“Are you sure we can’t challenge their custody? Are you sure there’s no recourse?”
“I’ve been ordered to take the kid to Atoka tomorrow. If she wants to apply to a judge, she’ll have her choice of Judge Calloway here or Judge Parker in Fort Smith.”
Nick moistened his lips. Could he convince Anne to apply to the judge? He shook his head. No judge in the country would give a baby boy to a widow woman with a shady background—especially when she wasn’t kin. Anne didn’t trust the law already. She wouldn’t entrust Sammy’s future to a judge.
“She’ll run.” Nick straightened. “And you won’t be able to track her once she gets out of town. She’ll disappear.”
“I’ll overlook your low opinion of my tracking skills and ask for your advice. Should I take the child immediately? Would that be easier on everyone involved?”
Nick’s heart wrung. Take the child from her—her child—and hand it over to strangers? The situation scared him more than a viper’s den of Stanford’s. It would either break her or she would determine to win at any cost. Devastating either way.
“I can’t . . . I can’t even consider it.”
“We don’t have a choice, Nick. It’s not our decision.”
He grabbed Joel’s arm. “Let her go with you to Atoka. Perhaps meeting the grandparents will make it easier on her. At least that way, you wouldn’t have to tend the child by yourself.”
“But watching out for her will be that much more trouble. The only way I’d let her come was if you’d come, too.”
Nick lowered his head. Leave town on Election Day? How would that look? If word got around that he’d fled while the polls were open, the consequences could be disastrous. Still, Anne’s very existence was at stake here. She would be tempted to act rashly, and even if she submitted, losing Sammy would destroy her. He couldn’t place his success above her survival.
“I’ll come. She’s more important to me than this election.”
“Then we’ll cast our votes in the morning and get Anne and Sammy before the train leaves. My only fear is that she’ll get wind of our plans and run. We’d better keep this to ourselves.”
Planning the details was beyond Nick. He couldn’t get past the fact that the child Anne loved would be taken from her, perhaps never to be seen again. He cast about, looking for some reprieve. He churned the news, the process, the possibilities, knowing that he would have a sleepless night rehashing the same poor choices.
“Tonight we’re getting the soapboxes out on the square.” Nick rubbed his forehead. “How in the world am I going to say anything coherent?”
“I just hope Anne understands I take no pleasure in this duty.” Joel shuffled his feet on the boards. “Now about Judge Calloway: There’s not much I can do before we leave tomorrow.”
“I don’t expect there’ll be a simple resolution. After the election, I’ll be in a better position to do something. I can’t worry about that just yet. Not when I know what lies ahead for Anne.”
“Then you fulfill your commitments tonight, and I’ll meet you in the morning.”
Nick nodded, his heart breaking. “And I’ll go upstairs and try to forget what you just told me.”
Where was he? Usually Nick was in his office before she arrived, but this morning even Harold was growing concerned.
“Could he be with the Stanfords? Tomorrow is Election Day, after all.”
The bandages around Harold’s splint looked like they’d been dragged behind a six-horse stagecoach.
“He’d better not be.” Was it wrong to wish Ophelia would come to the office? Was it wrong to wish she could see Anne back at work? Anne watched the dust motes sparkle in the morning light. She stood and shook out her skirt. “I’m going after him.”
Harold cocked his head. “Where?”
“I’ll walk toward the Stanfords’ house and keep my eyes open along the way. Heaven help them if they did anything to him.”
Going down the stairs in a dress was a hassle. Especially when she was mulling over possible excuses for her tardy boss. Anne snatched her skirt away from her boots before she tripped over it. Her boss? True, he was more than that, but exactly what he was to her she didn’t want to define. Not just yet. Life in Garber took getting used to, and she wanted to ease along gently. She was pleased with their current situation—Nick at the office, Sammy waiting for her at home. No use in rushing on past.
She reached the foot of the fresh piney staircase and took a deep breath. No telling what kind of mischief had befallen Nick. She aimed to lead him out of it.
Rounding the corner of the collateral broker, she nearly crashed into him.
“Why are you hiding here?”
His face turned red and he snapped to attention. “I’m not. I was talking to Joel and I lost track of time.”
“Harold and I were worried. You could’ve been waylaid in a ditch somewhere.”
The red ribbon on his lapel rose and fell in a dramatic sigh. He took her hand. “Listen, I don’t think there’ll be much for you at the office today. You might as well go home and play with Sammy.”
Something wasn’t right. They’d shared much recently, but Nicholas was hiding something from her. Had he come to his senses? Did the spotless Mr. Lovelace finally realize what a messy woman he’d gotten tangled up with?
“There’ll be too much today for Harold to handle alone. He’s not supposed to use his arm until—” She took a sharp breath with the enlightenment. “You don’t want anyone to see me this near to the election. Is that it? You could lose votes if people link us together?”
He squeezed her hand. “We are already linked, Anne. I’m not ashamed of our relationship.”
But neither did he offer a forthright excuse for sending her home. Now she was positive that he was holding something back.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
He avoided her gaze. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
For someone as forthcoming as he, the effort it took to not share whatever was on his mind must be eating through him like termites.
“I’ll go home, then. I’ve been eyeing the river just past Comanche Street. Looks like a good place to start teaching Sammy to read tracks and signs. Who knows, we might catch us a rabbit or something.”
“Don’t go to the river.”
“Why not? You don’t think the Stanfords are coming after me, do you?”
“No, nothing like that. It’s just that I’d be . . . worried . . . if you left town today.”
There it was again—his not saying what he meant. Anne put her hands on her hips. “Maybe you’ve got the jitters. I don’t know how else to explain the way you’re behaving.”
“I’ve told you what I can. Tomorrow I can talk more freely.”
Tomorrow after the election? What secret was he hiding? She was on the verge of protesting when she spotted Mr. Stanford headed their way.
“Here comes Mr. Stanford. Do you want to talk—”
But no sooner had she said his name than Nicholas took off to confront the man in the middle of the road.
“You haven’t come to my office in months, Mr. Stanford. I hope this visit brings good news.”
Anne knew better than to step too close. She recognized fighting roosters sizing each other up.
“Good news for me, but devastating for you.” Satisfaction dripped off Mr. Stanford’s smug face. “Your crew failed to deliver out on the Northern Line. I’m afraid we’ll have to consider the contract null and void.”
“My foreman didn’t report any problems yesterday. Can you be more specific?”
“If it was necessary, but it’s not.”
Nick’s face hardened. “Why not be honest? I’ve delivered what I promised, but you aren’t satisfied because I won’t play your games. You want a puppet who’ll dance when you pull the strings, and I refuse.”
Ian tugged on the wrist of his black gloves, stretching over grasping fingers. “That’s a pity. I can’t work with lads who refuse to coo
perate. If you are unteachable, then I’d rather share my experience with someone who can benefit from it.”
“The person who benefits most is you.” Nick’s heels left the ground with each thrust of his finger.
“We’ll see, won’t we? See how you do on your own?” Ian smiled but his eyes were hard. “Good day.”
Anne approached Nicholas cautiously, never taking her eyes off Mr. Stanford as he passed.
“I knew this was coming.” Nick paced a circle around her. “Why am I so mad now?”
“Just because you expect something doesn’t make it any easier to bear.”
Nick spun toward her, dust flying from beneath his feet. “Would you rather be blindsided? Would you prefer to have tragedy thrust suddenly upon you?”
Anne blinked. What was he talking about? “I’m not picking a fight with you, Nicholas. Just saying you can never prepare yourself for some strikes.”
He looked away. “Last night I thought losing my business was the worst that could happen to me. I was wrong.” He kicked up another cloud of dirt. “I’d like to prepare you. I wish . . . but I will be there. We’ll be together, Anne. Now, go on. Go home and play with Sammy. Nothing you could do today would please me more.”
His shoulders sagged under exhaustion.
“If that’s what you want, you’ll get no argument from me.” Anne squinted at him in the morning light, her compassion tinged with annoyance that he didn’t trust her enough to share his secret. “You’re going to survive this. You’re a fighter and this isn’t the end for you.”
His eyes flickered up, naked and miserable. “It might be more than I can bear, but not for the reason you imagine.”
Nothing else was said. Well, if he wanted to keep his fears to himself, Anne could understand. Nicholas had to carry on as if business were steady and the election secured. Hopefully, when the election was behind him, he’d tell her what had happened since last night that had so shaken him. She’d like to hear it from him, but if he wasn’t willing to talk maybe she could find someone who was.
“I’d wondered if we were going to see you today,” Harold said. “Anne went looking for you.”
Nicholas dropped his hat onto the bench. “I sent her home. We need to talk.”
Harold lifted his splinted arm off the ledger as Nick took a seat. “If I write slowly with my left hand, I don’t blot too much.”
“I wish that was my only concern. You’ve performed your tasks here exceptionally well—taught me a lot—and you deserve stable employment.”
“You’re letting me go?”
“Not until I have to—definitely not until you’re out of your splint—but I’m afraid it’s inevitable. Mr. Stanford has said he’s going to stick us without a contract on the second line, and he’s threatening to break our current contract.”
“Why? Isn’t he campaigning for you as commissioner?”
“Not anymore.” Nicholas picked up the rubber ink stamp on Harold’s desk. “As it turns out, my appointment to commissioner wasn’t based on my merits. A certain railroad man saw an opportunity to place a stooge in office. When I refused to vote as he demanded, he made the consequences very clear to me.”
“But he can’t do that. It’s illegal.”
“Yes, well, I doubt Judge Calloway would have much interest in presiding over the case when he’s the one who appointed me . . . at Stanford’s rather persuasive request.”
“He’s in on it?” Harold covered his mouth. “Do you have proof?”
“Only what I overheard. It’d be my word against a judge and Ophelia. A disgruntled former business partner accusing the wife of one of our leading citizens. How would my testimony be received?”
Harold chewed the end of his pen. “Still, if money changed hands there’s a trail somewhere. You already thought you saw evidence of it in Garrard’s records.”
Nicholas nodded. “I’m not giving up. I intend to chase down every bit of evidence I can, but making accusations before the election will smack of desperation. I have a strong lead. It’s best to pretend nothing has happened until after the vote. Once I’m on the inside, we’ll have more access. But I wanted you to have time to look for another job. Without a contract I won’t be able to make payroll for long.”
“Have you told Sheriff Green about the judge?”
“No, but Joel knows. I have to leave tomorrow on personal business and will be gone for most of the week—”
Harold tucked his chin. “Tomorrow is the election.”
“I haven’t forgotten, but there’s nothing I can do once the vote is cast. As long as you’re here to pay out the last payroll, then everything else can wait.”
“I can handle it,” Harold said. “Maybe it’d be good for you to get away for a spell. Smooth-talking voters have surely exhausted you. Leave town and clear your head. By the time you get back, you’ll probably have all kinds of plans.”
For every conniving Stanford in the world there were hundreds of loyal Harolds. “I’m grateful for your help. I won’t worry about loose ends as long as you’re here.”
Because Nick had enough heartache to keep him distracted.
Anne didn’t know what Nick was hiding, but she aimed to find out. A visit to the jailhouse was worse than finding weevils in your biscuits, but if you were hungry enough you’d bite anyway. Entering, her eyes were drawn to the corner where Finn’s body had lain. She’d spent some time behind bars herself and couldn’t enter a jail without a sense of foreboding, but unlike Finn, she’d been found innocent and released. Someday she’d have to tell Sammy what happened to his father. Hopefully by then the boy would be strong enough to make sense of it, if any sense could be found in the situation.
The back door opened. According to the badge on the man’s suspender, he was the sheriff. He scraped his boots on the threshold and rinsed his hands in the basin by the door. “How can I help you, miss?”
“I’m looking for Deputy Puckett,” who usually appeared wherever she didn’t want him.
The sheriff approached, drying his hands with a cheesecloth towel. “I think I know you. You’re tending the train robber’s child. Well, Joel’s getting ready for the journey tomorrow. I bet you’ll be relieved to have that kid off your hands.”
“The kid?” Anne felt the blood drain from her face. The flapping towel blurred and the cell bars tilted. She gripped the back of a chair. Tessa wanted Sammy? Not after she’d abandoned him. Not after she’d made Anne his mother. She couldn’t undo that.
Anne wouldn’t allow it.
Her first instinct was to snatch up her skirt and run, but she’d tried to flee once before without making preparation. Although she wasn’t hiding from a monster like Jay this time, there was even more at stake. She had to save Sammy.
“Yes, he’s a nuisance.” Even if she’d eaten a plate of soda crackers, her mouth couldn’t have been drier. “That’s what I wanted to see Joel about. What time . . . ?”
“Eleven o’clock train. He wants to reach Atoka by Wednesday.”
Atoka? Tessa had gone back to Indian Territory?
And Nick already knew.
“I’ll get his duds together,” she said. “Thanks for the information.”
How could Nicholas hide this from her? How could he let them sneak up on her without warning? Once outside, her steps sped toward the Pucketts’. Nick wouldn’t let them take Sammy, would he? He said he was preparing something. Getting them ready. He’d said that they were going together, so obviously Nick had made plans—plans that he didn’t trust her to keep from Mrs. Puckett and Joel. Maybe he would try to reason with Tessa and whatever yokel she’d hitched her wagon to. Maybe he’d contest Tessa’s rights legally. He had connections . . . well, until that vote on the bridge he had, but she knew the resourceful Mr. Lovelace wouldn’t let her down.
She found Mrs. Puckett and Sammy in the back of the house doing the washing. At the wicker basket, Sammy bent, grasped the wet bed linens and strained to pull them free. The toothy determinat
ion on his face made her proud, and desperate. No matter what Nick’s plans, she couldn’t hide Sammy in the deputy’s parents’ house. In her opinion, they needed to be out of town by sunup.
“Nick didn’t need me today,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind me being underfoot.”
“Of course not. Sammy is certainly glad to see you.” Mrs. Puckett pinned a sheet on the line. “God knew what He was doing when He brought you together.”
Was God going to make up for all the wrongs He’d put her through? Were they finally going to get even?
Anne stopped a few feet from Sammy and knelt down. His eyebrows rose, and he squealed as she held out her arms to him. With his hands over his head he stumbled forward one step and then another. His next step carried him close enough that he leaned his chest out and fell into her arms with a low chuckle. Anne buried him against her, kissed the top of his head.
“Let’s go inside,” she said.
Tonight. Tonight she had to find Nick and tell him outright that she knew. If he didn’t come of his own volition, she’d sniff him out and demand to know his plans.
Fighting the urge to run, Anne carried Sammy to the house, but as soon as the door latched behind her she spun to peer out the window.
Mrs. Puckett still had two sheets to scrub and half a basket of linens to wring and hang. That gave Anne a good half hour to pack their bags. If they took Sammy on the lam, she’d have to think ahead. Fresh milk wouldn’t be delivered to her door every morning if they were in hiding. There’d be no cows to supplement his baby formula. Still holding Sammy, as if she wouldn’t let his feet touch the ground until they were safe, Anne barged into the kitchen in search of the Nestlé infant food to drop into her knapsack. She was reaching for the cabinet door before she realized that Mr. Puckett was sitting at the kitchen table.
He looked at her from over a pie tin, blinked once, and moved another forkful to his mouth. “You’re in a hurry. Did you lose something?”
Straightening his arms, Sammy pushed against her. Only then did she realize how tightly she held the boy.
“No, sir. I didn’t expect you home already.”
Caught in the Middle (Ladies of Caldwell County Book #3) Page 19
